


Little Things

by Fumm95



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Canon Memory Loss, Hair Braiding, Morning Routines, Other, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 08:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12907761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fumm95/pseuds/Fumm95
Summary: It's often the little things that hurt the most.





	Little Things

**Author's Note:**

> A small ficlet based off of a headcanon about Seraphyna’s hair (basically, that she kind of hates having long unruly curls but Asra loves it so she never cuts it short).

It’s often the little things that hurt the most.

He watches Seraphyna in the mornings as she gets ready for the day. Even with most of her memories missing, her morning routine is the same as always, her muscles and instincts remembering what her conscious mind cannot: washing the sleep from her face, dressing for the day, and then spending long minutes coaxing her sleep-mussed black curls into some semblance of order.

It’s the last that almost seems to haunt him, watching as she runs slender fingers through her hair, gently teasing out knots and taming the mass that hangs, thick and wild and beautiful, down to her waist. Without realizing it, his hands ball into fists, as though doing so will allow him to forget the feeling of silky smoothness against his skin, the sensation of burying his hands into her hair, somehow at once soft and yet still unruly, dark strands twisting around his fingers.

To forget the way she would sigh and lean into his ministrations, eyes fluttering shut as she shifts her weight to rest against him, trust and affection clear in her every movement, every expression.

“What is it?”

Asra shakes himself from his memories as her voice drifts over from her position in front of the mirror. Her head is turned towards him, over her shoulder, with a mix of confusion and curiosity in her gaze, and he blinks. “Sorry?”

Bright golden eyes meet his for a brief moment before she drops her gaze, hands stilling. “It’s nothing. Just… You were staring.”

“Was I?” He forces a casual smile onto his face, hoping that it looks more real than it feels, that, admittedly rather futily, any sign of embarrassment at being caught remains internal. “I was only thinking… Your hair has gotten quite long.”

She sighs, twisting back to examine her reflection with a critical eye and a frown. “I know. And it’s so hard to keep neat even in the best of days…”

He watches as she leans back, giving an experimental shake of her head that sends curls flying, before making a face and beginning to split the tresses into sections. “Wish I could just cut it…”

In spite of himself, his heart leaps into his throat and he bites his lip to prevent a resounding “No,” from escaping his mouth. Instead, he coughs lightly, forcing aside his gut reaction with some difficulty. “Why don’t you?” he asks instead, voice as laidback and mildly inquisitive as he can manage.

To his surprise, her brow furrows, and not in concentration from her fingers skillfully weaving the strands of hair into a thick plait, smooth and efficient. He tears his eyes away from her nimble hands, directing them towards her face and the creases between her eyes, pressing his own hands together before his fingers can twitch from the desire to assist her.

“I… I don’t know,” she says at last and, almost as if she’s taken aback by her own response, her movements slow. “I hate leaving my hair so long and it’s such a hassle but I just… I feel like there’s a reason why I shouldn’t. A very important reason, but I can’t remember what it is…” Briefly, she winces, and he resists the urge to step forward, to take her into his arms and shelter her from any pain, as he always longs to do. “Or perhaps my mind doesn’t want me to remember.”

“I see,” is all he says, all he can manage, but even so, his response draws an inquisitive look from her, which only turns to concern.

“Master? Are you all right?”

He barely restrains a flinch at her use of the title, at the luminescent golden eyes that peer at him with far too much insight, that seem to pierce straight to his innermost thoughts and feelings. It isn’t until he opens his mouth that he realizes there’s a lump in his throat.

With a hasty swallow, he forces another smile onto his lips. “I’m fine. Just thinking… But thank you, Seraphyna.”

She blinks and cocks her head at him, even as she deftly ties off the end of her braid and tosses it over her shoulder, where it hangs halfway down her back. “Whatever for?”

“Your thoughtfulness.”

It is not precisely a lie, but it is certainly not as much answer as he would like to give, not the answer he would provide if he wasn’t terrified that somehow it would trigger another attack of heart-stopping catatonia. Instead, as she offers him a bashful smile, bronze cheeks dusting a becoming red, he can only hope that someday soon, she’ll understand.


End file.
